Gloria Victis
by daygogurl
Summary: Our favorite trio are all with the wrong people for the wrong reasons. When Ron and Hermione rediscover each other, a betrayer in their midst and the actions of a spurned lover may cause them to lose each other again.
1. Calm Before the Storm

A/N: Sigh...I've always been an R/Hr shipper, yet this plot bunny's been bugging me for the longest time. It's not one ship or the other, really, until the very end. I've never written an H/H fic before (I don't think I will after this one unless I get another plot bunny), so please forgive me if anything in their relationship sounds off or OOC or anything. Suggestions are always welcome!  
  
Disclaimer: All characters, etc., belong to JK Rowling.  
  
  
  
Chapter 1: Calm Before the Storm  
  
  
  
  
  
The wind blew softly through the open window, causing the curtains in the small bedroom and ruffling the already messy hair of one Harry Potter. He raised an eyelid cautiously, wincing as the sun glared into his face. Grumbling, he slid out of bed, trying not to disturb the petite figure sleeping beside him. "Forgot to shut this last night, I s'pose..." He shut the window quickly, shivering as the cold hit his boxer-clad body.  
  
"What are you doing out of bed?" A soft voice inquired.  
  
Turning, Harry watched as his fiancee ran her hands through her brown curls tiredly. "Had to shut the window; it was getting cold." He yawned suddenly, but quickly shoved his fatigue to the side. "Besides, it's seven o'clock. Had to get up anyway."  
  
Hermione threw off the covers, crossing the room. Harry smiled again as she wrapped her arms around him, sighing softly. "I wish we didn't have to go today."  
  
"Am I hearing right? Hermione Granger not wanting to go to work?"  
  
Her grip tightened a bit before she loosened up, laughing a little. "You know what I mean. Besides, there's the whole wedding thing to plan; I'll be meeting Mum for lunch again to discuss things."  
  
He kissed her forehead. "How long will it be until you're legally mine?"  
  
"A month. And I don't belong to you. We belong to each other."  
  
"Ah...I forgot about your feministic tendencies."  
  
"Shush." She slipped out of his grasp, grinning. "I'm going to go take a shower."  
  
Harry grabbed a jumper hanging from a peg behind the door, pulling it on. The rest of the house was quiet as he passed the individual rooms by. The hallways were lined with photographs, some of their subjects still resting against their frames, heads bobbing in sleep. The kitchen was full of Muggle appliances; Hermione wasn't into cooking and consequently they existed on mostly microwaved food and other simple fare. Not that he complained about that.  
  
Pushing open the glass sliding door, Harry's feet found themselves on the smooth wooden planks of the outside patio. He leaned on the small fence, elbows slightly digging into the aged birchwood. The view from there was amazing, rows and rows of grass and trees; the hill country they had picked to live in was still untamed, still wild, but there was a peaceful element in it. Living so far away from the city was a little inconvenient, but Harry and Hermione loved it all the same. He paused in his train of thought, letting the cold air creep through his rumpled clothes and invigorate his senses before coming back inside.  
  
  
  
After a quick shower, he found himself sitting across the table from an alert Hermione, eating his way through bacon and eggs. The comfortable rustle of newspaper and the clink of silverware against their simply- designed plates made for a tranquil, everyday morning.  
  
"Pass me the sports page, love." The corresponding paper was haphazardly tossed at him; she was currently deeply immersed in the editorials and therefore was oblivious to most anything.  
  
Harry's brow furrowed as he scanned the league standings. "There must be a misprint."  
  
"What are you talking about? There's never a misprint." She gave him a strange look before returning to her own reading.  
  
"No, look: the Chudley Cannons are in the top five. That's impossible." He shoved the papers into her face. "It hasn't happened for a few hundred years and I don't think a bunch of rookie players is going to change that."  
  
Hermione gave the paper a passing glance. "You forget that Ron's assistant coach. Remember his chess strategies? I'm sure it's all explainable." She laughed as Harry gave a look that suggested she had sprouted an extra head. "What? Oh, come on. They can't be that bad."  
  
"It's the Cannons, Hermione. The Cannons wouldn't have a chance against any team ever." He shrugged suddenly. "Say, why don't we drop by Ron's tonight? I'm sure he has a good explanation."  
  
Her tone suddenly became frosty as she replied, "Ron and I aren't speaking, remember?" He sighed. Despite the fact that they were all in their middle twenties, his two best friends continued to fight like cats and dogs. It had always irked him at Hogwarts, but now, more often than not, he was resigned to sit by and watch, analyzing with Fred and George if they were at the Weasleys'.  
  
"Come off it, love. You two aren't sixteen anymore; its time this bickering stops."  
  
"'Not sixteen' indeed. I wasn't the one who got his eyebrows singed off playing Exploding Snap last week."  
  
"I wasn't the one laughing myself silly about it."  
  
She shrugged, warm brown eyes playing into piercing green ones. "Either way, I suppose we should go. He's just broken up with Lavender again, and I'm willing to forgive him if he's willing to-"  
  
"Forgive you?" His hopes were squashed as she replied,  
  
"No. I'm willing to forgive him if he's willing to admit that he's wrong."  
  
He rolled his eyes as they both stood, sending their plates to the sink. "Well, I'm off."  
  
"Meet us for lunch?"  
  
"Erm..."  
  
Laughing, she drew closer. "I understand. I'll deal with Mum alone." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him softly. "Have a good day."  
  
"You too." They shared another kiss, a deeper one this time. That was followed by another, and then another, each increasing in intensity. Pulling away reluctantly, Harry pulled his wand out of his back pocket. "We'd better get going. Love you."  
  
"Love you too."  
  
As they disapparated, they didn't know this would be the last completely peaceful morning either of them would ever have for a long time.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I ABHOR Ron/Lavender, but couldn't really think of anyone else to put him up with, so there you go. Sorry that it's kinda short. Be nice and review! Please? 


	2. The Trio, A History

A/N: 2nd chapter! BTW, how do you keep chapters in the size/font you put it in while typing it? Mine keeps coming up as 12 point arial-type stuff. Argh.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything but the plot is JK Rowling's.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2: Snakes and Spells  
  
  
  
  
  
The fireplace was aglow with light, red-orange flames licking at already ash-white logs. It set a strange glow over the small room, but it was still feeble compared to the riot of color that was afternoon sunlight.  
  
"Nagini...that's it, come over here." The snake complied mutely, body making a slow scrape against the once dusty, now highly polished floorboards. A forked tongue reached out and licked its new master's hand. "Good." Draco Malfoy pushed silvery-blonde hair away from his face. His eyes narrowed at the person standing before him. "I thought I told you to wait until nightfall before coming here. Can't you follow orders?"  
  
"No."  
  
Draco smirked at him. "If you weren't so high ranking in this organization, I'd kill you."  
  
"I know that." The man stepped from the shadows quietly, watching the fire consume the wood. "Why else do you think I worked so hard to get where I am today?"  
  
A mirthless laugh escaped from Draco's lips, dying down as more people silently filed in. "A thirst to prove yourself? You never exactly stood out...for the right reasons, anyway." A nasty smile played across his lips before he spoke again. "What are you waiting for? Get the meeting started."  
  
"Right. Zabini, you're late." The aforementioned person shrank, sure of punishment. "I don't waste my magic on cretins like you. Sit down." He surveyed the rather large group of people before him, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sure you are all aware of the plan?" A chorus of affirmation ensued. "Good; I didn't want to have to go over it for the umpteenth time." The man pushed up the sleeves of his robe, revealing a garish tattoo. Where the Dark Mark had been on Voldemort's Death Eaters, this new wave of evil witches and wizards had red dragons outlined in black, a tribute to their fallen leader, Lucius Malfoy. He had formerly owned an army of Chinese Fireballs, which had been used in the Voldemort Wars.  
  
The tattoo on this man was now glowing scarlet, clashing horribly with his hair. But that was the least of his worries. "I expect you all to go over your individual roles, as planned by Draco."  
  
"That's Lord Draco to you."  
  
"May I remind you that if you hadn't provided us with monetary support, you would've been executed? I don't want to rehash the details of your near betrayal, Draco, but I assure you that I will if your head needs puncturing." A titter of laughter ran the length of the crowd as Draco shrank back in his chair, glaring daggers at his nemesis.  
  
They had become friends, in a way, but that was due to the fact that they were forced to work in close proximity most of the time; the animosity between them would have made them both spontaneously combust if they continued in that vein. So the hatred was stoppered, but only temporarily. Most of the Neo-Death Eaters (NDE's for short) had already taken sides, and although Draco was the one from the prestigious Dark family, many tended to gravitate towards the newer upstart. After all, who would ever suspect him of siding with the antithesis of everything his family stood for?  
  
"Enough with the jokes, just get on with it."  
  
"Fine. Like I was saying, be ready to act at any time. Practice often-"  
  
"Preferrably with Muggles," interjected Pansy Parkinson. She smiled proudly as another ripple of quiet laughter made its way through the throng, trying valiantly to catch Draco's eye.  
  
"We don't want any dead bodies floating to the newspapers. Avada Kedavra'd people would almost always rise suspicions of Dark activity." He frowned at Pansy before speaking again. "I have something to attend to tonight, so I defer the rest of the meeting to Draco." With that, he disapparated.  
  
A few miles away, inside of a seemingly harmless Muggle van, a soft chorus of high-fives ensued among the huddled group of Aurors. Seamus Finnigan exclaimed, "We only need a month and this'll blow right out into the open."  
  
*********  
  
A brisk knock on the door startled Ron Weasley out of his fitful nap. He scratched his head, red locks scattering in all directions. He swore profusely, straightening his black robes before going to the door. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming...Oh, hi." Harry and Hermione both stood there, Harry grinning like he was on the verge of telling him some important secret, Hermione looking rather pensive. "Come in, you two."  
  
"Lavender isn't here?" Asked Hermione, waving her wand towards the vertical blinds in the living room. They pulled themselves shut as Harry flicked on the lights.  
  
"I could've done all that myself, you two didn't need to," he protested. Harry shrugged, plopping down on the couch as Ron turned his attention back to Hermione. "She's staying with Parvati for a while."  
  
"Are you on or off now? I can never get it straight." Harry's gentle dig hit a sore spot, but Ron handled it well.  
  
"Off...I think. She's going through a weird phase right now; apparently all women in her family were stay-at-home mothers. I suppose you could call it an advanced stage of the mid-life crisis."  
  
"So she doesn't know what she wants to do with her life? I can relate to that." She looked doubtful as she faced him. "Ron, about that argument the other day..."  
  
"Sorry," he replied shortly. His two best friends wore identical expressions of shock and horror.  
  
"Right then, who are you and what have you done with Ron Weasley?" Harry asked.  
  
Ron was busy pouring drinks into some tumblers and didn't answer at first.  
  
Hermione waved her hand in front of his face. "Ron? Are you alright?"  
  
With her eyes focused completely on him, face only inches from his own, Ron felt a lurching in his stomach, as if he had just hurled himself off a skyscraper. She was beautiful in her own right, something he'd been aware of since seventh year, something he'd tried his damndest to deny. She and Harry loved each other, he knew, and he wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that. Not when the two of them were so happy.  
  
Hermione obviously realized what he was thinking, pulling away hastily. "So what's for dinner?"  
  
Ron seemed to have gotten his composure together, burying any strange feelings under a cloak of sarcasm, as he always did. "You tell me. I'll cook it this time, the damned smoke detector went haywire last time you tried to cook."  
  
"Very funny, Ron."  
  
Harry chortled at Hermione's look of indignation. "Don't worry, love...I like your cooking, as long as you make plenty and it's edible."  
  
Her eyes narrowed even further. "I don't like what Ron said, but I don't like what you said either."  
  
"Relax, I was only joking about the smoke detector thing," interjected Ron. "But just wait here, I'll get something made." Flashing her a commiserating smile, he dissapeared into the kitchen.  
  
"I can't just sit here idle," called Hermione.  
  
"You two can go into the study," retorted Ron, popping his head out of the kitchen door. A meat cleaver was in his right hand, making him look like the poster boy for the Wigtown Wanderers. "Harry knows where it is."  
  
"Come on, Herm." They walked down the comfotably carpeted hall, Harry smirking at her preplexed expression. "Surprised he has a study? So was I. There's even a mini-library."  
  
Hermione grinned back. "I'm astonished, actually."  
  
The room they entered was a comfortable one; there were squashy sofas that had formerly been stowed in the Weasleys' attic. The three of them used to stay up there on rainy days, sifting through old trunks and talking. There was a small desk with a swivel office chair; a Chudley Cannons team photo, complete with a grinning Ron in coaches' robes, was tacked up behind it. Papers were scattered all over it. An entire wall was full of books, although mostly about Quidditch teams, strategies, positions, etc., there were some on other topics. Hermione scarcely notice Harry moving about, shutting the curtains and flicking on the lights. She walked by a shelf, slender hands running over gold-embossed letters set on worn leather. Suddenly she stopped, hands flying over her mouth to conceal a shriek of glee.  
  
"What is it?" Harry stepped behind her, breath just inches from her ear. It was a comfort, having him as the constant presence he was.  
  
She carefully pulled the book out; it was stuffed between an archaic copy of 'The Cannons Shall Conquer' and '101 Curses to Use Against Wayward Referees', handing it to him.  
  
He glanced down at the cover. Faded, old-english style letters spelled out Hogwarts, A History. Turning it onto its spine, he could see "first edition" printed clearly on it.  
  
"I know we're already out of school," she said eagerly, "but it would be fascinating to read, especially Chapters 65 and 67. The views of the four houses concerning Wizard-Muggle relations must be drastically different..."  
  
Harry bit back a sigh as she went off on a random tangent, not even aware that he was tuning her out. This obsession with all things literary irked him, but he didn't say anything about it for fear of being told off. He disliked arguing with Hermione very much, since at times she could be as stubborn as Ron. He never understood why they argued so much and so often despite countless years of being best friends. His thoughts were interrupted as Hermione exclaimed,  
  
"...Do you think he'd mind?"  
  
"Er...what?" He scratched his head, confused.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Do you think he'd mind if I borrowed it?"  
  
"Borrowed what?" They both turned around, watching a plate of food settle down on the coffee table set in the middle of the room.  
  
"Did that plate just talk?" Harry quipped. "I swear it sounded exactly like Ron."  
  
"Oh, yeah...I transfigured myself into a tray of food. Right." The real Ron followed the stuff. "That joke was..."  
  
"Fantastic? Amazing? Hilarious?"  
  
"Horrible."  
  
Hermione snorted with laughter. "Harry, leave the jokes to Ron and the twins; you're not made for slapstick, juvenile comedy."  
  
"Juvenile? I consider my wit a fine art, thank you very much."  
  
"Lord help us all," she said dryly.  
  
"Let's see..." Ron assumed an exaggerated pose reminiscent of the Thinker sculpture, sitting down on one of the couches. "You claim to be an agnostic Darwinist, yet still use 'Lord' in your gripes?"  
  
"It's a figure of speech," she said, exasperated.  
  
He rolled his eyes. "There's something called sarcasm. You just try it sometime."  
  
"Okay, okay, enough picking on my fiancee." Harry interrupted. "Besides," he grinned at the aforementioned woman, "I'm rather hungry."  
  
"I'm the equivalent to food to you?"  
  
"No, no, of course not," he replied.  
  
Ron, watching the two of them, couldn't help but wonder. If they didn't watch out, they could become the Nagging Wife and Henpecked Husband. A bit like his own family, if he thought about it. He knew that if it were him talking to Hermione like that, he wouldn't quail against her impending anger. Hell, he was more than used to it, after spending seven years in almost constant close proximity.  
  
To him, she was much better than anything, even food. And that was saying a lot for him. "Er...what were you saying earlier...me not minding about something?"  
  
Her entire face lit up, and she took the book from Harry's hands, coming close to Ron again. "I just wanted to borrow this."  
  
"Ah, 'Hogwarts, a History.' Thought it was something on Quidditch; I'm disappointed." He grinned at her again, and Hermione felt the queerest thump in her chest. She shook it off stubbornly, focusing on Harry's back as he stood, scanning book titles.  
  
"Would you mind if I kept it for a bit? I'd really love to read it." Her brown eyes were sparkling and she was biting her lower lip a little. Ron felt almost faint as he looked at her face; she looked hopeful, almost glowing in anticipation. She looked more excited about a bloody BOOK than she had even been about him.  
  
"Well...you can keep it, if you like."  
  
Harry whirled around.  
  
Hermione's jaw dropped open. "You're not serious? Ron, this is the first edition! Do you know how much you could sell this for?"  
  
He shrugged. "It's not like I'm ever going to read it...I found them in the attic at the Burrow, stowed away in a corner we never really got to. I'd rather see you have it than some rich scum that doesn't appreciate it's value. Go on."  
  
She looked from him, to the book, and back to him again. "Oh, Ron!"  
  
It was almost like the time she had hugged him in third year, he thought faintly, catching her as she fell against his arms. Only this time he didn't just pat her head and move away, embarrased. The feel of her arms twined around his neck, the flutter of her eyelashes against his skin, the heat of her body soaking through her clothes and into his...they were all things he had never experienced in this context. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the stolen moment.  
  
He opened them again to find Harry watching them with an odd expression, one he had been seeing on his best friend's face at various times. He let Hermione pull away, confusion written all over her face. She crossed the room hastily, perching next to her fiancee, ever the dutiful lover.  
  
The silence between the three of them was thick and heavy, but no one made any move to speak.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I know it ended in a weird spot. Sorry...I only got two reviews for the last chapter =(. Is this a way of telling me to update my other stories? Or just an allergic reaction to the H/H-centric first chapter? Please review!!! 


	3. Dinner With the Woods

A/N: Woo-hoo! I updated all of my stories this weekend! ::does a little jig:: Heh.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything but the plot is JK Rowling's.  
  
  
  
Chapter 3: Dinner With the Woods  
  
  
  
  
  
"Did you get 16-A from the downstairs file cabinets?" Seamus ran his hands through his sandy hair, eyes screwed up in frustration.  
  
"Yeah, it's right here." His partner, Cho Chang-Wood, slid it across the table to him. "I already looked over it; there's nothing that would show that he was actively involved in the planning and procedure of the coup."  
  
"What about the rest of them?"  
  
She sighed deeply. "They've been looked over; Neville scoured the evidence for fingerprints as well. There's nothing to show that he was involved in much of anything except for the photographs."  
  
"Good." Seamus watched people dart through the frame of a picture, sighing deeply. "I hope they don't manage to turn this all 'round on him. God knows he doesn't need any more crap."  
  
Cho sent him a sharp look. "Remember what I said your first day on the job? iDon't get emotionally attached.i I know he's one of your mates from school and all, but he's a professional just like us. He knew what the stakes were getting into it."  
  
"Still...I can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong." He shook his head. "Don't you ever get that way?"  
  
She smiled wryly. "I got it the day Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw, before they won the Cup in my fourth year. Oliver still won't let me forget it."  
  
"I never did understand how you two started dating…how can you stand all the Quidditch talk?"  
  
"It just works that way. Besides, I make him keep it to a minimum at home. But we're getting off-track." Her eyes glinted under the harsh flourescent lights. "I think it's all set. All he has to do is spring the trap."  
  
"If it were only that simple. You make it sound like we're hunting for bloody rabbits or something."  
  
"What would Mandy think if she heard you use that language? Wait…what would iMrs. Brocklehursti think?"  
  
"Shut up." Seamus stuffed all the materials back into the folder, adding some new things and placing a paperweight on top of it all. 'Banshees Suck!' was emblazoned on the smooth glass dome, shining greenly.  
  
She chuckled. "Admit it, Finnigan…you'd be lost without my superior guidance."  
  
"I bet Harry'd work with me on this case, even though he's only a part-time Auror. I could get anyone I wanted as a partner, Chang."  
  
Rolling her eyes, she stepped out of the office, calling, "Quoth the raven: 'Nevermore.'"  
  
********  
  
"Oy!" Ron called after his team, nodding at the pair of Beaters passing him. "Hit the showers, all of you. The stench'll make us all sick."  
  
A low rumble of tired laughter trickled through the bedraggled crowd of people. The head coach stood on the grassy field with Ron, face amicably set. "Have any plans for the next few years, Weasley?"  
  
"Er…not really." He glanced at the older man. "I don't swing that way…"  
  
"Don't be an idiot, that's not what I was talking about." He was smiling, despite his stern words. "I'm planning to retire soon, and I like the way you run things. I just want you to know that you're in the running for the head coaching job."  
  
Ron felt a small surge of pride, intermingled with panic. "I don't know if I'll be here in five years." The wind picked up ever-so-slightly, ruffling his hair.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure you will be. Chudley's gotten into your blood, I know it. It's unusual to find someone like you hanging on to a team like this."  
  
"Not so unusual."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah…I like the underdogs better than the champions."  
  
"Then you should've been a Hufflepuff." The two men turned around and were immediately arrested by a set of navy blue practice robes.  
  
"Oliver! What are you doing here?" Ron clapped the star Keeper on his back.  
  
"I wanted to talk to you."  
  
He became serious. "If it's about next month's match…"  
  
"No, no, nothing about that." He looked around, suddenly quite aware of the Cannons' coach's eyes, which were scrutinizing him closely. "We thought you'd like to come over for dinner."  
  
Ron glanced at his colleague, who was still eyeing Oliver suspiciously. "I s'pose I'll come...but no Quidditch talk."  
  
"Sure thing."  
  
He rolled his eyes. In the relatively short time he'd known Oliver Wood, he realized that the man couldn't go five sentences without referring to Quidditch somehow. He was sure it'd come up during pre-dinner conversation. "Alright. I'll go back to my flat and change first."  
  
"Bring Lavender as well, if she's there." The Puddlemere player grinned at him. "Unless, of course, you'd rather stay at home."  
  
"Shut it, you." He grabbed his playbook-filled bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. "I'll be there." He exchanged goodbye with the Coach after Oliver disapparated, patiently listening to his warnings about Puddlemere spies and the like.  
  
"Anything, and I mean anything even REMOTELY related to Quidditch, and you leave."  
  
"Yes sir." Ron made his excuses quickly, not wanting to be lectured for any longer, and headed home with a flourish of his wand.  
  
  
  
"Ron, you're home!" A perky voice sounded from somewhere in the house, and a second later Lavender came out. "I've been waiting for ages, sweet."  
  
He gave her a weak smile. He hated nicknames, but it was Lavender. What could he expect? "I don't think you want to do that right now," he said. She stopped mid-kiss. "I mean, I'm dirty and sweaty."  
  
"So? I haven't seen you in ages...and I'm not going through that absurd crisis anymore." She wrapped her arms around him, taking the bag out of his hands. "What d'you want for dinner?"  
  
He kissed her on the cheek. "Actually, Cho and Oliver invited us over tonight."  
  
Lavender's eyes lit up. "Oh! What am I going to wear? I left my favorite dress at Parvati's!" She disentangled herself from him, almost running into their bedroom.  
  
Ron followed tiredly, already accustomed to her whims. Lavender was pretty easy to read, and he had become very adept at it in a relatively short period of time. "What about the white dress robes? Those look nice."  
  
"Those are SO last season." Her voice was muffled as she dug through an endless pile of clothes. "Besides, Muggle dresses are nice and light. I like them better." She emerged a few seconds later with a pink-tinged outfit. "How's this?"  
  
"It's fine, Lav." He headed for the bathroom. "You look great in anything."  
  
She squealed, almost mauling him. "That's the nicest thing I've heard all day." She kissed him twice, hard, before letting go. "But it's not true. I don't look good in all dark colors except for wine or burgundy...that's why I didn't go to that funeral with you last year, honey. And...ick, you taste like grit."  
  
He grinned in spite of himself. "Told you so." And he shut the door behind him before she could do anything to him. He thought, with some humor, that most other women would be offended by his saying she looked good in anything. Hermione would have been very offended. 'No more Hermione today,' he thought. He'd been unusually distracted that day, and it was due in no small part to the events of the other day. He was almost hit twice while teaching moves, and let four Quaffles sail past him while training with the Chasers. Roger Davies, the Cannons' Keeper, had laughed himself silly at this, saying something about younger coaches and the like. Of course, Ron had to swing a Bludger at him afterwards during scrimmage. But other than that, he was fine. Really.  
  
He thought about his lunch with Harry as he showered. His best friend was a little more guarded than usual. Most likely he was still thinking about the library incident. Ron didn't know what the problem was; he and Hermione were happy. They were meant for each other. The hero swept the girl off her feet in a romantic haze of roses and stumbling declarations of love. Ron harrumphed indignantly as he shut the water off, wrenching open the shower curtains and grabbing a towel from the various ones hanging on the rack. Harry had absolutely nothing to worry about. He, Ron Weasley, typical wizard, wasn't about to do anything to jepordize the world's most celebrated young couple. "Not that I want to," he muttered, slipping on one of his Weasley jumpers and a pair of jeans.  
  
"Want to what, pumpkin?" Lavender was combing her brownish-blond hair in front of the mirror, the straight, silky locks swaying a bit.  
  
Ron, coming up behind her, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'Pumpkin' had to be his most hated nickname. It was right up there with pookie, sweetums, and sugar. "I wish you wouldn't call me that," he said, hurriedly flattening his hair with a wave of his wand. "What?"  
  
"That's not very hygenic," she said. "It's cute, but not Oliver-and-Cho's house cute. More Shopping-at-Diagon-Alley cute." Her voice was petulant as she sat him down, running her comb through his own hair.  
  
He exhaled slowly. "Lav, we're going to be late."  
  
"They'll understand." She gave his head a small pat. "That's better." With a flick of her wand, the gel bottle shot up and squirted into his hair.  
  
"Urgh..." He hated when she fussed over his appearance like this, and said it. "This isn't necessary; it's only Cho and Oliver."  
  
"You might see it as only Cho and Oliver, but I see it differently." She started as he stood abruptly, stopping any haircare aspirations on her part. "Ron! They live in a VERY affluent neighborhood, appearances are everything."  
  
"Not to me, they aren't." He straightened his jumper and checked his watch. "We're fifteen minutes late."  
  
"Sorry, pookie. Let's go."  
  
  
  
The Woods' home was indeed in an affluent suburb, and this quarter was all- wizard. Some kids flew lazily by on their designer broomsticks, tossing apples to each other. A House-Elf was weeding someone's lawn, and a Kneazle was being chased around by a toddler, who was being chased by his mother, still in her Gladrags silk dress robes.  
  
Lavender shook her hair out of her face, twining her arm around Ron's and looking around appreciatively. "Ron, when we get married and have children I want to raise them in a place like this."  
  
"Mmm-hmm," he responded non-commitedly. "Here we are." Striding up the steps, he rang the bell and waited.  
  
She could barely contain her excitement. "Their home was featured in Witch Weekly, you know. Cho let them take photographs, and they just remodeled. I don't think I've seen the new fireplace they put in; it's more than wide enough for Floo travel, but it has one of those glass things covering it. It looked beautiful. I want one just like it when we get a house, sweetums. Their backyard has a half-pitch and they just got Quodpot equipment installed as well."  
  
Ron made an incoherent noise that Lavender interpreted as a sign of disgust.  
  
"Ron, Quodpot is all the rage now. It'd do you good to learn so when we go to Parvati's-"  
  
"Lavender! Ron! How are you two doing? Come on in." Cho hugged Lavender briefly before giving Ron a sympathetic smile. Shutting the door behind them, she ushered them into the living room. "Oliver's outside on the pitch."  
  
"Thought he'd be." Ron stared out of the window, watching him try out the Double Eight Loop. He nailed it, and Ron cursed involuntarily. "Hey!"  
  
"No cheating, you." Cho gave him a mock-angry look as she pulled the curtains shut. "Seriously, though, Oliver'd kill you if he saw you gawking out of the window like that." She turned to see Lavender ogling the fireplace.  
  
"I love this!" She exclaimed. "It looks better in person than in the magazine."  
  
Cho shrugged rather embarassedly. "Thanks."  
  
"We could use the Hawkshead Attacking Formation...and then the Bludger Backbeat with Lynch...that'd leave the posts pretty much open...hmm..." A preoccupied Oliver slammed the porch door shut, absentmindedly kissing his wife. He pulled off his sweaty practice robes to reveal a regular t-shirt and football shorts, doing a double-take when he saw Ron and Lavender. "Oh, hi, you two. I wasn't expecting you to come."  
  
Lavender giggled. "I wasn't planning on leaving today, but everything else I've planned can wait until later." She gave her boyfriend a suggestive look.  
  
Ron grinned back. She was a beautiful girl, if not much else. "Looking forward to it."  
  
"Get your minds out of the gutter, all of you." Cho remprimanded semi- seriously. "I don't want the disturbing mental pictures, thanks. Besides, dinner's ready."  
  
The meal passed quickly enough, with Lavender talking quite a bit about interior design to Cho, who seemed politely interested. Oliver and Ron weren't saying much; as Quidditch was out-of-bounds, their conversation had drifted to vaguely amusing comments about their respective signifigant others. It quickly escalated into a serious conversation as the small group moved to the living room once more.  
  
"I never really thought you'd end up with Lavender," Oliver commented thoughtfully.  
  
'Me either,' Ron thought. What he said was a different story. "What makes you think that?"  
  
"All the guys were betting on you and Hermione Granger getting together."  
  
'Thanks. Thanks a lot. That really made my day.' "Are you completely daft? We'dve killed each other in a week."  
  
Oliver laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, maybe. But there was still something there. Too bad you didn't take the chance when it was there, because my sources say she really fancied you in fifth year."  
  
Suddenly the mashed potato in Ron's mouth was increasingly hard to swallow. "Who were these 'sources?'"  
  
"Katie and Angelina, of course. They couldn't believe you'd missed it. But when they heard about she and Harry, they calmed down a bit. But who'dve thought those two would end up together?"  
  
"Not me." The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I was the last to know. And you weren't even at Hogwarts anymore!"  
  
He shrugged. "I just asked them about the team; they threw all this extra stuff in. Want something to drink? You look a bit pale."  
  
Ron nodded. "Yeah, actually. Firewhiskey." He downed the glass in one gulp.  
  
  
  
A/N: Please review! Please? 


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